


An Interrogation

by iimplicitt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Azkaban, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Blood and Gore, Cheating, Criminal Masterminds, Dark Harry, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lust, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Movie: The Silence of the Lambs (1991), Murder, Possessive Tom Riddle, Professor Tom Riddle, Psychology, Scotland Yard, Serial Killer Tom Riddle, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimplicitt/pseuds/iimplicitt
Summary: Hermione is tasked with interviewing Dr. Tom Riddle to help gain insight on a recent serial killer, The Midnight Maiden. Only thing is, Tom is a serial killer himself, locked behind bars for nearly a decade. Will she get what she needs, or will he give her more than she bargained for?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 15
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> INSPIRED BY SILENCE OF THE LAMBS
> 
> [dialogue from the movie is used, but branches off into its own plot]

**They** reached Dumbledore's car. His driver, a stout man in his mid thirties, stomped on a cigarette and climbed in behind the wheel. His assistant said something into a walkie-talkie, then opened the back door. But Dumbledore pulled her aside, a hand on her shoulder. His intensity was scary.

"I want your full attention, Granger. Are you listening?"

She swallowed thickly but straightened her back and raised her chin, forcing herself to steady her voice. "Yes, sir." Her boss eyed her for a moment over his glasses, his gaze intense and twinkling, observing her before deciding to continue.

"Be very careful with Tom Riddle. Dr. Potter at the asylum will go over the physical procedures used with him. Do not deviate from them, for any reason. You tell him nothing personal, Granger. Believe me, you don't want Tom Riddle inside your head... Just do your job, but never forget what he is."

She nodded once, biting back her annoyance. She admired Dumbledore, Hermione truly did. But when he spoke to her like she was an incompetent child it made her veins burn with the want and need to prove herself. Even though she's done so a handful of times.

This time it was different, if she handled this case, hell even solved it, she'd finally be granted the respect she deserved.

Nonetheless, she was unnerved at Dumbledore's tone. He did seem genuinely worried. "And what is he, sir?"

A man then walked up to them with messy black hair, a lab coat hanging off his broad shoulders and he smiled at them, "oh, he's a monster. A pure psychopath."   
  


**Harry** led Hermione through the front doors, the _Azkaban State Hospital for the Criminally Insane_ sign hanging above their heads like a rusted guillotine.

They walked down many different halls, the tiles yellowed with age and eventually they reached a gate for another level of security and she had to hand her identification card over. Her lip tugged into a sneer when she caught sight of her photo, she had looked horrid that day. Her hair more wild than usual and her smile was lop sided.

"It's so rare to capture one alive. From a research point of view, Dr. Riddle is our most prized asset..." Dr. Potter trailed as they waited on the guard to verify her credentials.

Hermione hummed but felt her gut tug uncomfortably. She hadn't the time to properly look at Tom Riddle's folder and she had to hold back her surprise at him still being referred to as a doctor. Surely his title was stripped when he was caught?

The guard handed her card to Harry instead of her and he observed it for a moment longer than she was comfortable with, one of his thumbs stroking over her picture. He continued to hold it as they walked into his office and he sat down.

"You know, we get a lot of detectives here, but I must say, I can't ever remember one so attractive."

Hermione smiled politely and shifted her weight, her heels suddenly feeling too tight. She had gotten dressed for a proper interrogation, her first real proper case. So she'd worn a dark gray pencil skirt and a nice crimson blouse. Her curly hair was neatly pulled back and she held her bag in front of her. Standing awkwardly as he so rudely left her without offering a seat.

"Will you be in the area overnight? Because this can be quite a fun city, if you have the right guide." He drawled. Hermione tried to hide her distaste for him, but she was sure her lip was curling up more than it was supposed to. "I'm sure it's a great city, Dr. Potter, but my instructions are to talk to Riddle and report back to London this afternoon."

He paused, a sour expression taking over his charming features. Hermione could admit he was handsome, but his behavior made disgust nip at her heart. "I see," Harry finally said, handing back her card at last. "Let's make this quick then, I'm a busy man."   
  


**Reaching** the lowest floor, they stepped out of the elevator and onto the asylum corridor. It was much cleaner on this level, and much darker. Everything took on shades of gray and the black tile was glossed.

Walking through a gate, Hermione flinched as it swung shut behind her, the heavy steel bolt sliding back into place and locking. Harry didn't spare her a glance as he kept walking and she made haste to follow him, her heels clicking.

"Riddle carved up seven people," he threw over his shoulder casually. Clearly trying to intimidate her. Hermione lifted her chin in defiance even though she nearly felt like throwing up. Either from fear or nerves.

"That we're sure of," Harry continued. "We've tried to study him, of course - but he's much too sophisticated for the standard tests. And my, does he hate us! Thinks I'm his nemesis... Dumbledore's very clever, isn't he? Using you."

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her bag, "how do you mean?"

He scoffed, like she was the dumb one, "a pretty young woman to turn him on? I don't believe Riddle's seen a woman in eight years. And oh, are you ever his type, so to speak." He waved his hand casually and his striking green eyes caught hers.

Despite how uncomfortable she was, there wasn't a way in hell she'd let him see. She'd rather die than give him the satisfaction. "I graduated from Oxford with a BSc, it's not a charm school." Hermione made sure her voice was polite and as domineering as she could.

If Harry was able to get under her skin she worried at how she'd react to Tom Riddle's apparent genius.

Harry merely clicked his tongue as they continued down another corridor, "good. Then you should be able to remember the rules." The moment they turned the corner the entire air felt grimmer.

Heavy grids covered the lights, making it dimmer and distant slamming could be heard as well as faint, hoarse shouts. Even Harry started to walk more briskly and Hermione made sure to straighten to back and keep up.

"Do not reach through the bars, do not touch the bars. Do not get more than three feet next to the glass. You pass him nothing but soft paper - no pens or pencils. No staples or paperclips in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. Do not accept anything he attempts to hold out to you. Do you understand me?"

His words were quick spoken and she nodded, her head swimming. "I understand," she said. Harry turned to look at her, all distaste gone and his face was stern and serious.

"I'm going to show you why we insist on such precautions. On the afternoon of July eighth, 1993, he complained of chest pains and was taken to the dispensary. His mouthpiece and restraints were removed for an EKG. When the nurse turned her back to him, he did this to her."

Harry handed her a dog eared photo and Hermione cautiously took it into her hand. She looked at him for a moment before glancing down and she stopped in her tracks. She couldn't even gag, it was too much to process. Her reaction seemed to please Harry as he smirked and plucked the picture from her hand.

"The doctors managed to re-set her jaw, more or less, and save one of her fingers. His pulse never got over eighty-five, even when he ripped out her tongue." Harry came to a halt in front of a metal door, "I keep him in here."

Turning, he pushed a button and the door buzzed slowly open. Hagrid, a large, impassive orderly awaited them in an anteroom. Hermione blinked at him, he was so big there was hardly any room for Hermione to walk freely without bumping into something else in the small room.

She was in no mood to do so anyway, seeing as its walls held restraints, mouth pieces, mace, and tranquilizer guns.

Harry made to move to the other door, but before Hermione even thought about it she quickly blocked him and he raised a brow at her.

"Dr. Potter," she began carefully, her mind working as she talked. "If Riddle feels you're his enemy, as you've said, then maybe I'll have more luck by myself. What do you think?" She hit her lip, knowing she was going against all of her training and knew sure as hell Dumbledore wouldn't approve of such a reckless move.

Hermione's ambition to prove herself to her boss clouded her judgment.

Harry looked down at her annoyed, "you might've suggested that in my office and saved me the time."

Swallowing her pride, Hermione batted her lashes at him slowly and pulled her lip from between her teeth. "But then I would've missed the pleasure of your company."

The smirk that tugged at his lips was sickening but she kept up her act and smiled at him. Harry then nodded once and looked to Hagrid, "when she's finished bring her out."

Turning on his heels, he left and Hagrid smiled at her reassuringly. Hermione already knew she liked him better and her lips settled into a more relaxed smile herself.

"Ello, I'm Hagrid. He told you don't go near the bars right?" He held out his hand and she shook it, her grip firm. "Hermione Granger. Yes, he did."

"Okay. Past the others, it's the last cell. Stay to the middle. I put out a chair for you." He clearly sensed her tension and gestured to a screen monitor bolted to the wall. Though it glitched every few seconds. "I'm watching, you'll do fine."

Hermione nodded at him gratefully before turning to the door, looking down the long corridor through the window before taking a deep breath and opening it.   
  


**The** metal clanked behind her loudly and she flinched again despite herself.

Hermione began to move slowly, her heels echoing. High to her right was a security camera. Though as she looked at it, it looked severely outdated. To her left were cells.

Her breaths were coming out shallow and everything in her body was telling her to turn around and run. _Run Hermione, for the love of god what are you doing?_ She shook her head, she could do this. Dumbledore wasn't using her. He assigned her this because he believed in her.

Some of the cells were padded, with narrow observation slits, others were normal, barred. Hermione shivered, it was very cold. Shadowy occupants were pacing, muttering.

Suddenly a dark figure in the next-to-last cell hurtled towards her, his face mashing grotesquely against the bars and he hissed. It took everything in her not to scream but she did jump back a good foot.

His teeth were a grimy yellow and his long black hair was matted and greasy, he smiled at her and she shivered.

"I can smell your cunt!" He wailed and then inhaled deeply. Her stomach lurched but she kept walking.

The last cell, Dr. Riddle's, was slowly coming into view and Hermione could feel her heart in her throat.

Behind its thick, bullet proof glass front wall was sparse, bolted-down furniture, many softcover books and papers. On the walls, extraordinarily detailed, skillful drawings, mostly European cityscapes, in charcoal or crayon, also some peculiar looking objects. One might've been a diadem. There was also a few beautifully done sketches of snakes.

Hermione stopped at a polite distance from his cell, and cleared her throat. She prayed to god her voice wouldn't give away just how scared she was.

"Dr. Riddle, my name is Hermione Granger. May I talk with you?" Her voice didn't waver, but it was clearly strained and she wanted to wince.

Dr. Tom Riddle was lounging on his bunk, in white pajamas with a leg dangling off the side of the mattress. He was reading a French novel Hermione couldn't make out, and his face was hidden behind the pages.

However her breath caught in her throat when he lowered the book, considering her for a long, almost painful moment. Tom had a face so long out of the sun, it seemed almost leached except for his glittering dark eyes, rose tinted mouth, and the messy heap of brown curls on his head.

It was truly unsettling how handsome he looked.

Tom rose smoothly, hopping down from his bunk soundlessly and crossed to stand before her; posing as the gracious host. His voice was cultured, soft, "good morning, Ms Granger."

Hermione unconsciously took a small step closer.

"Doctor, we've a hard problem in psychological profiling. I want to ask for your help with a questionnaire." Her mouth felt painfully dry as she pulled her tongue from the top of her mouth. She had to force herself to hold eye contact with him. But his gaze was unwavering and eventually she had to look away.

Tom hummed, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. "By 'we' you mean Scotland Yard. You're one of Albus Dumbledore's, I suspect?" A brief moment of silence passed before Hermione realized he was waiting for an answer, "I am, yes."

"May I see your credentials?" He asked politely, biting his cheek at her surprised expression. Oh, it had been so _long_ since he's seen such a creature.

Hermione fished out her ID and held it up for his inspection. Tom smiled, all too soothingly for her comfort.

"Closer, please."

A small step.

"Closer."

Hermione took another step, trying to hide her fear of him. She hated that she was scared but really, who could blame her? She was sure half the men in her office would've pissed their pants by now.

Tom's nostrils flared as he gently, like an animal, sniffed the air. He then smiled, closed mouth and a dimple teased its way into his left cheek as he glanced at her photo.

"That expires in one week. You're not real Scotland Yard, are you?" His tone was light and conversational, though clearly insulting. She gritted her teeth, "I'm still in training."

Raising an elegant brow, he looked her over, "Albus Dumbledore sent a trainee?"

Her patience was already wearing thin, tired of men talking to her like she would never get anywhere and she sighed. "We're talking about psychology, Doctor, not the Yard. Can you decide for yourself whether or not I'm qualified?"

That was a very risk move to pull, but she knew it was one way to catch the man's attention, by appealing to his intellect.

Tom licked his bottom lip, humming in thought. "That's rather slippery of you, Ms Granger. Sit. Please." He gestured a hand towards the foldable chair Hagrid had brought out.

She hated to think it but, already he'd shown more manners to her than Harry did.

Hermione sat down and rested her bag on her lap, undoing the zipper. Tom waited patiently until she got settled and then sat down himself. He looked much too cheerful given the circumstances.

Tom was leaned back casually, one arm draped over the back of the chair and his long legs were out and crossed at the ankle. "Now then. What did Grayback say to you?" At her puzzled expression, Tom waved a hand off to his side.

"Grayback, in the next cell. He hissed at you. What did he say?" His tone was light, soft. But if Hermione didn't know any better there were also undercurrents of tension. Swallowing thickly, she averted her gate to her hands.

"He said, "I can smell your cunt."

Tom hummed, his gaze absolutely piercing, Hermione felt like she shouldn't even dare to move. "I see," he began. "I myself cannot. You use Evyan skin cream, and sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps, but not today. You brought your best bag, though, didn't you?"

There was a beat of silence and she didn't like the smile on his lips. How did he get all that from one sniff of the air?

Hermione cleared her throat, "yes."

"It's much better than your shoes," he made a point to look at the heels, which admittedly were a bit scuffed. Annoyance pricked at her sides, she didn't come here to talk about her fashion choices. "Maybe they'll catch up one day."

His smile deepened, "I have no doubt of it."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in the metal chair, her eyes shooting across the cell behind him before she pointed to one of his sketches of a necklace. "Did you do those drawings, Doctor?"

He didn't even turn in his chair when he answered, seeing as he most likely had the placement of each of his works memorized. "Yes. That's the locket of Salazar Slytherin, seen from an ancient family that settled back in Scotland. Do you know Founders?"

Hermione was a bit taken away from the hand work, it was so intricate and careful. How could hands that maimed do such wonderful things? "All that detail, just from memory?"

"Memory, Ms Granger, is what I have instead of view." If there was malice in his tone it was well hidden. All he did was continue to look at her, ever since he put his book down he hadn't looked anywhere else.

Hermione gazed at the drawing for another moment before pulling out the questionnaire from her bag, setting the faux leather to her side and she crossed her legs. His eyes tracked the movement of her legs and she could feel her pulse thudding in her ears. "Dr. Riddle, if you'd please consider-"

Tom waved his hand dismissively, "No, no, no. You were doing beautifully, you'd been courteous and receptive to courtesy, you'd established trust with the embarrassing truth about Grayback, and now this ham-handed segue into your questionnaire. It won't do. It's stupid and boring."

Hermione blinked at him and wanted to scoff. He was the prisoner, he had no authority. "I'm only asking you to look at this, Doctor. Either you will or you won't."

Tom clicked his tongue and she saw a flash of his white teeth, how he'd kept up such good hygiene was beyond her. "Albus Dumbledore must be very busy indeed if he's recruiting help from the student body. Busy hunting that new one, Bellatrix Lestrange... Such a naughty girl. Did Dumbledore send you to ask for my advice on her?"

Hermione finally looked at him, straight on, and only then did she notice the circles under his eyes. The purple contrasted with his snowy white skin and it made a bit more human. Only a bit.

She shook her head, he was distracting her. "No, I came because we need-"

"How many men has she used? Our Bella?"

Hermione bit at her lip and again, had to look away from his eyes. They were so dark she'd think someone had poured ink into them. "Five, so far."

"All mutilated?"

She sighed, "partially, yes. But Doctor, that's an active case, I'm not involved. If-"

"Do you know why she's called the Midnight Maiden? Tell me. The newspapers won't say."

Hermione wasn't sure if he was actually interested, trying to deviate, or if he was testing her. Part of her felt like it was latter and she could never refuse to prove herself. Although, she had to remind herself who she was speaking to.

Taking a breath, she waved the questionnaire around. "I'll tell you if you look at this form."

Tom considered her offer, and her, for a moment, his eyes tracing along the shape of her hand as she gripped the paper. He nodded and she started, "it started as a bad joke in homicide. Not much of a joke really, in my opinion. They said she likes to court her prey."

Tom shook his head, disappointment gleaming in his eyes. "Witless and misleading. Why do you think she takes their ring finger, Ms Granger? Thrill me with your wisdom."

Despite all the warnings going off in her head, Hermione found him weirdly easy to talk to. He was actually letting her speak, voice her thoughts. He wasn't telling her _she_ was wrong, but that everyone else was. He was giving her a chance.

"It excites her. Most serial killers keep some sort of trophy."

His dimple deepened and a stray curl fell in his eyes, "I didn't."

"No, no you certainly didn't."

There was a tense beat. Hermione not believing her sudden boldness. But her actions only seemed to amuse him. He nodded to the questionnaire, "send that through."

Hermione stood on shaking legs and pulled out the food tray that was connected to the wall, placing in the paper before sliding it shut. Tom rose, and this up close to the glass only then did she realize how tall he was. Even in her heels, he was nearly a foot taller.

Tom glanced at the questions, turning a page or two disdainfully and she wanted to slap him. "Oh, Ms Granger, do you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?"

She shook her head once, clasping her hands in front of her. "No, I only hoped that your knowledge-"

He suddenly whipped the tray back at her with a metallic clang that made her heart leap into her throat. Tom kept talking, his voice still pleasant, "you're _so_ ambitious, aren't you?"

He tilted his head to the side and walked to the spot where she was standing, clasping his hands behind him as he peered down at her through the glass. "You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a poxy. A well-scrubbed, hustling poxy with taste. Good nutrition has given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from being from the barrel, aren't you Ms Granger?

"That accent you're trying so desperately to shed. What was your father, dear? Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of the lamp? And oh, how quickly the boys found you. All those tedious, sticky fumblings, in the back seats of cars, while you could only dream of getting out. Getting anywhere, yes? Getting all the way- to Scotland Yard."

Tom's every word struck her like a tiny, precise dart. Burying its way into her skin painfully and it stung. Her skin stung. But Hermione knew who had the upper hand here, despite all his cruelty. He was the one in a cage. She squared her jaw, not giving in. She couldn't afford to.

"You see a lot, Dr. Riddle. But are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? How about it? Look at yourself and write down the truth." She slammed the tray back at him, her eyes on fire and some of her hair came lose. "Or maybe you're afraid to."

His head ticked to an angle like a bird of prey, watching with careful eyes. "You're a tough one, aren't you?" Hermione lifted her chin, trying her best to stare down her nose at him despite the height difference. "Reasonably so. Yes."

He looked like he wanted to laugh but settled for a single exhale through his nose, "And you'd hate to think you were common. My, wouldn't that _sting_. Well you're far from common, Ms Granger. All you have is the fear of it," he paused. "Now please excuse me. Good day."

Hermione's heart gave a tug, she hated how his validation of her made her feel a bit lighter all the sudden. Of all people, she shouldn't care about his opinion. She glanced at the tray, "and the questionnaire?"

Tom stepped backward and returned to his bed, "A census taker once tried to test me. I ripped out his liver and fed it to my snake. Fly back to school, little Granger." Before she could utter a word he became as still as a statue, his eyes suddenly unseeing as if he became remote.

Frustrated and feeling like her time was wasted, Hermione hesitated as she looked at him for a moment longer before picking up her briefcase, leaving the questionnaire on his tray. After just a few steps she saw that creature at his bars again, hissing at her.

_Keep moving Hermione, please just keep moving._

"I bit my wrist so I can die, see how it bleeds?" He sang out hoarsely, he then suddenly flung his palm towards her and blood spattered on her face and neck.

No, not blood, but pale droplets of semen.

Hermione gave out a sharp cry, disgust crawling into every inch of her being as she touched her fingers to the wetness. Stunned and near tears, Hermione forced herself to straighten her shoulders and walk on, fumbling for a tissue in her bag.

From behind her that deep, silky baritone began to call out her name in a chant from the last cell, "Ms Granger... Ms Granger!"

Hermione slowed, the click of her heels ceasing as she came to a stop. _Don't stop, run. For the love of god get out of there._ She shuddered, he was her last ditch effort of making a name for herself. After a short, heated mental debate, Hermione turned and walked back, stopping just in front of-

Tom Riddle appeared to be shivering with pure rage. For an instant his face was open, unfiltered. Hermione had caught a glimpse into hell itself. Then within the blink of an eye he was composed again. Her head spun.

"I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me." His voice was clipped but all together still polite. His eyes looked like they were trying to mentally remove the sticky white substance stuck to her skin for her since her hands were shaking.

"Then please," she said heavily, part of her resolve fading. "Do this test for me."

Tom shook his head and she deflated, her shoulders dropping and he took in the childish like action. "No. But I will make you happy. I'll give you a chance for what you love most, Hermione Granger."

She raised a brow at him, "what's that, Dr. Riddle?"

His shoulder raised in a partial shrug, "advancement of course." There was a pause as they observed each other, his gaze taking in her hair that had slowly become untamed, her flushed cheeks and wide eyes. "Go to Knockturn Alley. See Voldemort, an old patient of mine. Now go. _Go_." He waved a hand like he was talking to a child, smiling again, very Cheshire like. "I don't think Grayback could manage to cum again so soon, even if he is crazy. Don't you think?"

Hermione nodded slowly, taking in his handsome features one last time before she turned on her heel, keeping well away from the next cell.   
  


**The** grim, gothic looking asylum loomed above her as she rushed out the front doors. Hermione was stumbling, visibly shaken as she rubbed furiously at her face even though she'd gotten it all off in the bathroom.

She could still feel it and she felt sick, revolted, she wanted to burn her skin where he'd hit her. Looking around the parking lot, some relief filled her when she spotted her car. 

  
**Later** that night she was curled up in a ball in her couch in her flat, Ron was currently making some pasta and the tv droned on. But she wasn't paying attention. Tom Riddle, that's who invaded her mind. With his dark hair that contrasted his beautiful marble like skin. She thought back to his hands, how long his fingers were and she thought about all those drawings he'd made.

Suddenly the phone rang and she flinched. "I got it!" She called out to her boyfriend and stumbled up and walked to where the landline was.

Pulling it off the hook, she rested the cool material against her ear, "Hermione Granger speaking."

"I've read your interim memo on Riddle. You're sure you've left nothing out?" Dumbledore said with not so much as a greeting. She tugged at her over sized jumper and kicked at the wall lightly. "It's all there, sir. Practically verbatim."

"Every word, Granger? Every gesture?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, glad this wasn't happening in person. "Right down to the Kleenex I used," she said a bit heatedly. There was a beat of silence and she shifted on her feet, leaning against the wall. "Why? Is something wrong, sir?"

"He mentioned a name, at the very end. Voldemort. Any follow up on him?"

Hermione tucked the phone to her ear and tugged on the chord as she walked to the kitchen table where she had her folder open. "I spent all evening on the mainframe. Riddle altered or destroyed most of his patient histories, prior to capture. No record of anyone named Voldemort. But Knockturn Alley sounded like it might have have something of value. I tracked it down in the library's catalogue of national yellow pages."

Hermione dug through her notes before finding the right one, "there's a private owned business, Borgin and Burke's, located outside London, where Riddle had his practice."

She paused, expecting some sort of approval for her cleverness.

"Well, why aren't you there now?"

Hermione rubbed at her eyes tiredly and shook her head at the look Ron was giving her. "Sir, that's a field job. It's outside the scope of my assignment. And I've got a test tomorrow on-"

"Do you recall my instructions to you, Granger? What were they?" Dumbledore cut her off firmly. Hermione covered the mouth piece of the phone and took a deep breath. "Ron I swear to god I'm going to hit him one day."

Her boyfriend laughed, "that'll definitely get you thrown in the cut. Remember when you punched Malfoy our third year?"

She laughed herself and brought the phone back up to her ear, "tocomplete and file my report by 0800 Wednesday. But sir-"

"Then do that, Granger. Do exactly that."

Hermione pinched her nose, trying to calm herself. Something was obviously causing the man to be more irritable. "Sir, what is it? There's something you're not telling me."

There was a very long moment of silence, and for a fearful second she worried he had hung up.

"Grayback has been murdered."

Hermione dropped into a chair, startled and she rested her hand against her forehead. She knew she should feel some pang of sadness, but she felt empty and part of that scared her. The other part didn't care that he was dead. "Murdered? How?"

With his own deep breath, Dumbledore continued.

"The orderly heard Riddle whispering to him, all afternoon, and Grayback crying. They found him at bed check. He'd swallowed his own tongue. Potter is scared stiff the family will file a civil rights lawsuit, and he's trying to blame it on you. I told the little prick your conduct was flawless." Hermione smiled at that, forgetting she was in the phone for a moment.

"Granger?"

She blinked and cleared her throat, "I'm here, sir, I just don't know how to feel about it." That was a lie, what she felt a sick churning of relief. Because next time she went to see Tom Riddle, she wouldn't have to worry about Grayback. Part of her was even looking forward to it.

Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Tom did this for her. But no, that was ridiculous. He didn't do anything that didn't benefit himself. Then again, he looked absolutely livid after what had happened to her.

_Stop that Hermione, he only did it so you'd come back. He finds you as a sense of entertainment._

"You don't have to feel any way about it. Riddle did it to amuse himself. Why not, what can they do? Take away his books for awhile, and no pudding." Dumbledore took a breath before continuing, more soft this time.

"I know it got ugly today. But this is your report, Granger, take it as far as you can. On your own time, outside of class. Now carry on."

With that he hung up and Hermione blinked at the phone, stung by his abruptness her lip slowly curled into a sneer. "Well goddammit you old creep. What a bastard! Let Grayback squirt on you and see how you like it." She huffed, standing up and slamming the phone down on the receiver.

Ron stared at her, his face slowly turned red. "Hold on a bloody minute, _what_ happened?" Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, she was never planning on telling him but lo and behold she let it slip.   
  


**After** endless hours searching through Borgin and Burke's, Hermione's car skidded to a stop in Azkaban's parking lot.

Thunder clapped over head, illuminating the barred windows of the asylum as she ran towards the front doors, already drenched and the guard admitted her.

It was well around midnight when she skidded to a halt in front of his cell. It was dark, but he didn't seem to notice her, laying rigid on his cot, she could see the glint of horn-rimmed glasses perched on his aristocratic nose.

Hermione was panting, her clothes feeling too tight as they clung to her skin. "It's an anagram, isn't it Doctor?"

Her wet hair was plastered to her face as she sat on the corridor floor. Tom didn't look at her. She continued, she knew he could hear her and she didn't have time to play games.

"I wasn't sure at first but I found the writing all over the place, your name, your full name over and over again. On many of the object that are being sold at very high prices. No wonder you're loaded."

Tom was lost in shadows so she couldn't really see his face, only his silhouette and the glint of his glasses. Hermione sighed, "you crafted those things, didn't you? And are selling them off as the real deal? Your making fake relics and hoarding the real ones. For nearly eleven years. Why, Dr. Riddle?"

The food tray suddenly slid out of the cell, making Hermione flinch back. After a moment she realized and jumped up, however it was not the questionnaire like she was assuming.

In the tray was a clean, folded white towel.

Hesitating, Hermione crossed the small distance and took it, it was very soft. "Thank you," she muttered. Using it to wipe her face and dry her already curling hair.

Hermione sat down again, continuing to dry her hair and when Tom finally spoke he too was sat on the floor, directly across from her and sat crisscrossed. If they reached out their arms, their palms could meet, save the glass wall.

"Your bleeding has stopped."

She blinked at him in surprise. When she was rummaging through the shop earlier she cut her arm on a stray piece of a broken mirror. "How did-" she stopped herself. "It's just a scratch."

Tom hummed, taking in the utter chaos of her in that moment. When he first met her was was poised, now her hair was drying into a wild mess of curls, her mascara was smudged under her eyes, and her casual clothes clung to her skin. It left little to the imagination, but he was a gentleman so he didn't stare.

Not much, anyway.

"Why don't you ask me about the Midnight Maiden?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she shrugged off her jacket, his gaze flickering to her bra that peaked through the damp fabric of her white shirt, "why? Do you know something?"

He drummed his fingers along his knee, "I might if I saw the case file. You could get that for me."

Hermione laughed, the sound coming from her lips before she thought better of it. Only then did she truly take the sight of him in now that he was a bit closer and out of the darkness. His curly ebony hair was pushed back, his glasses were perched on his nose, and he had a fitted white t-shirt on that showed off the lean figure he possessed.

Shaking her head, she started again.

"Why don't you tell me about this so called Voldemort. And that man, in the back. You clearly wanted me to find him. Or do I have to wait for the lab?" Another ruse, Hermione had told Dumbledore she hadn't found him when she did. But something wasn't right. Everything else Tom gave her was a puzzle, she wouldn't expect him to be so forward.

Tom sighed, "his name is Billy Stubbs. A former patient of mine, whose romantic attachments ran to, shall we say, the exotic? I didn't kill him, merely tucked him away. Very much as I found him, in that disgusting bathroom. You'd have him under "Missing Person," which, in poor Stubbs' case, could hardly be more true."

His tone was lilting, as if he was recalling the weather and Hermione rested her chin in her hand. "If you didn't kill him, then who did? And why Voldemort? _Theft of Death_."

"The latter is a question for another time, I'm afraid my dear. And what can I say? Best thing for him, really. His therapy was going no where," he tsk-d. Hermione felt uncomfortable at how casually he dismissed his death. Then again, hadn't she done the same to Grayback?

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just leave him for the police to find?"

"And have them clomping about in my life? Oh dear, no," he laughed dryly. The sound was soft on her ears and she leaned forward absentmindedly. "At that time I still had certain private amusements of my own." Tom winked at her and she leaned back, remembering just who she was with.

_Why are you so easy to talk to?_

"How did you feel when you saw him, Hermione? May I call you Hermione?" The way her name rolled off his tongue made something deep in her stomach swirl and her cheeks flushed. She shifted and cleared her throat, ignoring his second question.

Hermione liked how he said her name, but he didn't need to know that.

"Scared, at first. Then-" she paused, her eyes going to his and her next words came out in a sigh, "exhilarated."

Tom made a surprised noise, leaning back on his hands as a brow raised, "why?"

Hermione smiled, "because you weren't wasting my time."

"Do you have something you use, when you need to get up your courage? Memories, tableaux... scenes from your early life?" He was testing her again, trying to dig at her. She wasn't ignorant and she felt like rolling her eyes, but settled for an indigent tone. "I don't know, next time I'll have to check."

"Albus Dumbledore is helping your career, isn't he? Apparently he likes you. And you like him, too." His tone was teasing, but there was a touch of coldness and she shrugged, not liking this shift. "I never thought about it."

Tom sat up and leaned forward, the shadows shifting on his face like he was made from them. "Your first lie to me, Hermione. How sad. Tell me, do you think Dumbledore wants you, sexually?"

She felt like she couldn't breathe. Like he'd somehow reached through the thick glass and shoved a fist down her throat, ripping out her lungs.

_Stop it, just stop it._

There was a subtle smirk to his lips as he watched her cheeks redden, "true, he's much older, but do you think he visualizes... scenarios, exchanges?" His dark eyes bored into hers, swirling black and she swore he could hear her heart screaming.

His voice was soaked in honey as he spoke next, "do you think he visualizes fucking you?"

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, having a hard time believing he was saying such lurid things. She remembered the picture of what he did to that poor nurse. She remembered who he was. She remembered why he was sat behind a cell. She shouldn't like him.

"That doesn't interest me, Doctor. And it's the sort of thing Grayback would ask." She ground the words out, nearly spitting out her disgust. There was a heated moment of silence and his face fell from teasing to neutral.

"Not anymore," Tom said.

His eyes drifted down to her chest for a mere second but it still heated her up. She wanted to cross her arms, hide herself, but that would give away her discomfort. Tom apparently noticed her frustration and he clicked his tongue.

"Surely the odd confluence of events hasn't escaped you, Hermione. Dumbledore dangles you before me like a nice little snack. Then I give you a bit of help. Do you think it's because I like to look at you, and imagine how good you would _taste_?"

Unknowingly her breathing became shallow and he observed the rise as fall of her chest straining against the damp fabric of her shirt.

_God he's really laying it on thick isn't he?_

"I don't know," her eyes shut for a moment at the tone of her voice. She sounded like a flustered school girl. "Is it?" She said more sternly, at least she tried to. _Think of Ron you blithering idiot, your lovely boyfriend. You're sweet and caring boyfriend._

 _"_ Or doesn't this all begin to suggest to you a kind of negotiation? There's something Dumbledore can give me, and I want to trade for it. I even wrote to him, offering my help. But he hates me, so he won't deal directly." Hermione blinked at him, that can't be true. Sure Dumbledore was a bit of a trickster but he wouldn't be so manipulative. So reckless.

Tom rose and slowly turned up the rheostat in his cell. As the lights came on it revealed how it had been stripped bare. Gone were his books, his drawings, his mattress, even his toilet seat. Hermione stood up quickly, her head swimming as she took it all in.

He nearly felt touched at her troubled expression.

"Punishment, you see." He sighed out, like it was some minor inconvenience. "For Grayback. You know when you leave, they'll roll in this blasted little telly that plays a gospel program on repeat. Except it's much louder. Potter does enjoy his petty little torments."

Hermione blinked away her concern, he _did_ kill a man. "Who killed Stubbs, Doctor? You know, don't you?"

"I've been in this room for eight years, Hermione. I know they will never, ever let me out while I'm alive. What I want is a view. I want a window where I can see a tree, or even water. I want to be in a separate institution, away from Potter, and I want a view. I'll give good value for it. Dumbledore could do that for me, but he won't. _You_ persuade him."

Hermione let a laugh slip, disbelief etched into her features. "Who killed your patient?" She asked again.

"Oh a very _naughty_ girl," he chided, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Someone you and Albus Dumbledore are very anxious to meet."

Hermione walked up and leaned on the glass with her shoulder, not thinking and he did the same, only four inches of glass separating them. "The Midnight Maiden?" She said incredulously. "Bellatrix killed him, all those years ago? That's impossible. For one it doesn't fit her M.O. she didn't take a trophy."

All Tom did was smile down at her, enigmatically. He leaned his head down, if it weren't for the glass wall he could probably kiss her.

She flushed at the thought and shook her head. This close she could tell his hair was more of a rich, chestnut brown and his eyes had flecks of gold in them. Tom's lips were plush and dusted red.

She wondered... _no stop it Hermione._

"Who is she stalking right now, Hermione? I wonder, don't you? How many more young men will have to die, before you trade with me?"

Hermione stared at him, not quite sure how to respond. They were quiet for a long moment as they merely observed one another. Tom took in the line of her jaw and the red budding under her cheeks. His memory trailed back to just a day prior, when semen coated her skin and his insides twisted and thrashed in sudden anger.

Her skin looked very soft, and for once he found himself only wanting to touch her. Not maim, not harm. Just feel the brush of it against his fingers.


	2. Chapter Two

**Hermione** was sat in a stiff leather chair in Dumbledore's office, waiting patiently as he rifled through a thick stack of files.

Her eyes danced around the cluttered shelves, stuffed with books and curious objects he's collected over the years. Her favorite was a vintage styled poster of some constellations he had pinned to the wall behind his desk. Which was also cluttered, filled with papers and pens and he had a bowl of lemon drops.

"May I?" She gestured to the candy, he nodded and waved a hand, "be my guest."

Popping one into her mouth, the citrus taste greeted her tongue and she settled back into her seat, her eyes trailing to the large window that over looked a bustling street.

Her foot tapped as she wrung her hands. Another man had gone missing. Though this time, the stakes were much higher. It was the son of the Chancellor of Great Britain, Theodore Nott.

_My, Bella was getting bold._

Finally, Dumbledore began speaking and looked at her over his half moon spectacles. "As I'm sure you're aware, with the missing case of Theodore Nott, it all comes down to you and Riddle. You're the only one he talks to."

She didn't like the satisfaction that churned in her stomach at his words. Finally, they genuinely needed her. She was an assist. Important to the Yard on such a massive case. Shaking her head, she quickly swallowed the little bit of the candy she was still sucking on.

"He's already offered to help. What would happen if we just showed our hand and him for Bellatrix?"

Dumbledore pulled at the tufts of his beard, mulling it over before shaking his head, "He offered to help, Granger, not to snitch. That wouldn't give him enough chance to show off. Remember, Riddle looks mainly for fun. Never forget fun."

He pointed a finger at her and she felt the childish urge to swat his hand away. "But if he knew we had to little time-"

"If we act too anxious, he'll make us wait. He'll let the Chancellor keep hoping, day after day, until Theodore's body finally washes up in the Thames. That'd be the most fun he'd have had in years, I don't plan to indulge him."

Hermione shook her head, her defiance radiating off her and Dumbledore raised a brow. Tom's words rang in her head, ' _you persuade him.'_ And she'd try, she really would. Despite Dumbledore's gaze, she set her jaw, "I think he means it, this time. I think he'll deal. He may be bored but he isn't one to play such a petty game."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were defending him, Granger," his fingers were steeped beneath his chin, observing her. She shifted in her seat, but didn't break eye contact. "I'm not defending him, sir, I'm telling the truth."

He sighed, plopping on of the candies into his own mouth, "what would it take?"

She smiled, though small and rested back into the chair, "he wants to transfer to a different institution, one with a view. He said a tree, or even some water... can we swing that?"

Her boss hummed, his eyes twinkling, "we can switch him to a different institution, eventually, but we'll never get all the clearances in time. Can you convince him a deal's already in place?"

At the thought of lying to him, lying to him about something that she knew he held to be important, her heart gave a painful lurch and she felt disgusted at herself.

He a serial killer, Hermione. Get a fucking hold on yourself.

Mustering up a nod, and shoving away the guilt gnawing at her insides, she started, "you'll back me up with paperwork?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Her mouth felt dry and she looked down at the floor, "then I'll try. But wouldn't this have more weight coming from the Chancellor himself?"

The old man hesitated, picking up one of his pens and messing with it. Which was very unlike him and she raised a brow before he continued. "The Chancellor doesn't know what we're up to. And we can't afford to let her find out."

Hermione blinked at him, surprised and taken aback at just how slippery Dumbledore truly was.

He shook his head at her expression, now staring down at her as if she was the one in the wrong. "He's the father, Granger. He can't possibly comprehend what Riddle is. He'd make the mistake of pleading with him. Begging him, Riddle would feast on his pain till the last second of that Theodore's life..."

On instinct part of her wanted to protest he wouldn't be so cruel. He'd apologized when she was assaulted, even though he had nothing to do with it. When she was shivering and drenched from rain he offered a her a soft towel. He trusted her, he was kind to her.

_He's a murderer and a psychopath, Hermione. Get that through your fucking head._

Dumbledore continued, snapping her out of her troubled thoughts.

"We can't trust Harry Potter, either. He's impulsive and proud. If he knew about Riddle's link to Bellatrix, he'd go straight to the papers..."  
  


 **Harry** approached, walking briskly down the corridor of the administration wing and she took in his aggravated he looked. She didn't much care.

He fell into step next to Hermione, her heels clicking against the tile and her briefcase gripped firmly in her hands. She didn't bother to spare him a glance as he pointed a finger at her accusingly.

"What you're doing, Miss Granger, is coming into my hospital to conduct an interview, and refusing to share information with me. For the third time!"

She sighed lightly through her nose, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "Dr. Potter, I told you, this is just routine follow-up."

"He's my patient, I have right!" His voice echoed loudly in the halls. When Hermione basically ignored him, he gripped her arm and pulled her to a harsh stop, nearly causing her to fall over.

"I'm not just some turnkey, Miss Granger. I shouldn't even be here this afternoon. I had a ticket to see a performance at the Old Vic."

Hermione stared at him, distaste and pity in her eyes for how pathetic he was acting and she yanked her arm out of his hold.

"I'm acting on instructions, Dr. Potter," she handed him a card, which he begrudgingly took, his eyes widened once he read it. Hermione continued, "This is the chancellor's number, now please, either discuss this with him or let me do my job."

Hermione walked away, leaving him speechless with frustration and hostility. Honestly, how he was in charge of patients astounded her.   
  


**Walking** down the dark hall, she came to a stop in front of Tom's cell. He was sat at his table, languidly sketching with charcoal on soft moleskin paper, his fingers stained black. He was using his own hand and forearm as a model and she tried her best to see how the art looked from her position.

A little relief filled her as she took in the rest of his cell, his other works, books, and bedding had all been replaced.

She didn't have so much as a chance to utter a greeting before he spoke up.

"Wouldn't you say, Hermione, that for the Chancellor of Great Britain, you're an odd choice of messenger?" His voice was a low hum, carrying over the air easily and slipping through the small holes that lined the bottom of the glass wall.

Sitting down in the metal chair Hagrid had set out for her, she pulled the papers from her briefcase and laughed despite herself, "I was _your_ choice, Dr. Riddle. You chose to speak to me. Would you prefer someone else now?"

Hermione couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as he froze, before slowly starting to draw again.

She hummed, "or perhaps you don't think you can help us?"

Tom finally stopped drawing and turned to look at her, his glasses perched on his nose. She liked him with his glasses.

"That is both impudent and untrue."

She raised a brow at him, "is it?"

"Tell me, how did you feel when you viewed our Bella's latest effort?" There was a beat of silence and he smiled, dimples teasing his cheeks. "Or should I say, her next to latest?"

Hermione bit her lip, mulling over how she should answer, "by the book, she's a sadist."

Tom clicked just tongue and stood up, dragging his chair over and sat himself down in front of the glass. "Life's too unreliable for books, Hermione. Typhoid and swans came from the same God." He paused and observed her. Her get you was more professional than last time, considering she ran in with her clothes soaked through. This time however, her hair was only half pinned back, letting him take in the wildness of her curls. He wondered if deep down she was just the same.

He bit his cheek at himself, it didn't dwell to get distracted by such trivial things. "Tell me, Theodore Nott, was he a university student?"

Hermione nodded, her mind scrambling to try to keep up, "yes."

"Was he in a society?"

"They all were."

He hummed, leaning back in the chair, stretching his legs out and he clasped his hands in his lap. Tom had a small grin on his lips as he looked at her, the clever little girl, "and what else?"

"It was a secret society that dealt in, well, heavy drugs I should say."

"Was heroin found in the others systems?"

Her brows furrowed but she nodded, "how'd you know?"

Tom waved her off, sighing, and a smirk tugged at his mouth as he watched her eyes flick down to the muscles that were just barely visible through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"I'm waiting for your offer, Hermione. Enchant next, darling."

Her cheeks flushed at the name. She knew it wasn't meant to be endearing but that didn't stop the odd swirl her stomach felt. But it was quickly washed away as guilt arose again, clawing at her as she glanced down at the papers Dumbledore had acquired for her.

Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Tom didn't miss this and mused in a lilting tone, "isn't that sweet, will little Granger miss my charming company?"

 _I would, actually_.

She shook her head, straightening her shoulders and looking at him evenly. Her hazelnut eyes clashing with the only darkness of his. "If you help us find The Midnight Maiden in time to save Theodore Nott, the Chancellor promises you a transfer to the central London hospital, St Mungo's, with a view of the city and the park nearby. Maximum security still applies, but you'd have reasonable access to books."

Despite how dry her mouth felt, the words came out even and steady and she smiled softly at him. Tom however remained silent, his eyes piercing and she sighed through her nose before standing up. Hermione moved closer to the glass, papers in her grasp, and he tracked her movement, this close he could smell the sweet twinge of her perfume.

It smelt like honey and strawberries with a bit of rain. And it was overwhelming. Every time she left, Tom found himself longing for her presence just to have the fragrance linger a bit longer, the only nice thing that lingered in the stale air. He snapped out of it when she started talking again.

"Best of all, though, one week a year you'd get to leave the hospital and go here," she held up a map to the glass and pointed at the lovely mountains covered in such a rich green with a massive lake, a castle gleaming in the distance. He knew exactly where that was and his heart gave a lurch. They wouldn't have known how interested he was in Scotland unless Hermione told them.

She appeared to notice his excitement and smiled more gently, oblivious to the fact that her insides were tearing her up at the fact all of what she was saying was a lie.

"Every afternoon of that week you can walk on the edge of the lake or wander about the castle for an hour. Under surveillance, of course..." she trailed and he observed the blush coating her cheeks.

He still didn't say anything and his silence was unnerving. Walking over to the food tray, she placed the papers inside. "Copy of The Midnight Maiden case file, copy of Chancellor Nott's terms. His offer is final and non-negotiable. If Theodore dies," she slid the tray through and made herself look at him, mustering up her courage.

"You get nothing. And you lose my charming company that I know you're so fond of." She joked, she had to. The tension in the air was killing her.

There was a measured beat, before Tom stood up smoothly and crossed over to the tray and stood directly in front of her, glancing at the papers but not touching them.

She tugged her bottom lip into her mouth, watching as his dark eyes raked over the information. 

"Hogwarts castle, quite charming," he hummed, masking the small glimmer of hope he felt deep in his chest. For a mere, disgusting moment, he felt the fleeting urge to hug her.

"It's a beautiful part of Scotland, Tom. I've been there, once when I was younger. I hadn't realized the Founders were tied to it until you brought it up."

His eyes snapped to her's and her brows creased, before she quickly blushed a deeper red. Realizing she had called him by his first name.

 _Say it again,_ he wanted to command. The words on the tip of his tongue but he shook the thought away. "If I help you, Hermione, it will be "turns" with us, too. Quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about this case, though... about yourself. Yes or no?"

Hermione blinked at him, taken aback by his request. Why would he want to know more about her? What use would that do for him? She wasn't that interesting, either. She feared once he knew more he'd be disappointed and the thought unsettled her.

At her lack of response, Tom stepped closer to the class, his voice coming out soft and if she were to be so bold, desperate. But no, Tom Riddle wasn't desperate.

"Yes or no, Hermione."

She licked her bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement of her wet tongue. They were standing very close. She could could see the faint stubble that lined his sharp jaw and the pale blue veins that ran like rivers under his skin.

"Yes." Her voice came out more breathless than she would've liked.

Relief surged through him, which made him uncomfortable. They've only met twice before this but he found himself likening her company. Out of everyone, which wasn't a large group, who actually interacted with him in the hospital she was the least insufferable.

"Go on, Doctor, ask."

He wanted her to say his name again. But he'd be damned before he asked,

"What's your worst memory of childhood?"

Hermione hesitated and he clicked his tongue, "quicker than that darling, I'm not interested in your worst invention."

Again with that bloody pet name.

She huffed, brushing back a curl, "back when I was in school, there was an incident, or more, with a certain professor."

Tom hummed, his head tilting to the side, "tell me. Don't lie, I'll know."

Hermione couldn't bear to look at him, for fear he'd probably stare down at her like she was some pathetic, weak little being who couldn't handle herself. Instead her eyes trailed to over his shoulder, hesitating again.

"The woman was dreadful and overbearing. Her rules were ridiculous and she was cruel, and vile, and loathsome. Eventually I snapped when she started to basically assault one of my best mates, and during detention she..." Hermione took a breath, closing her eyes and running a finger along the back of her hand absentmindedly, Tom tracking the movement.

"What happened, Hermione?" He asked softly, goading her to continue.

"She had this funny little desk with a leather strap on it. She tied my arm down and she had this sharp metal quill. I thought it was beautiful at first, but I didn't have much time to admire it as she started to carve into my skin. _I must always obey_ , she wrote again and again in the same spot, not caring how much I bled. But I never begged her to stop. I'd never give her that satisfaction. The summer that followed I'd ran into her in a dodgy part of London with my bo- with my friend. Again, it was a shit part of the city and she ended up being cornered by a group of thugs. We turned our backs and left her there."

Tom blinked at her, his eyes going to her hand again and he could faintly see a scar. Something in him ticked at her near slip, but he knew damn well what she was going to say. Her boyfriend. Of course little Granger had found herself a boy to toy with. She was too clever, bound to get bored. Part of him hoped she'd get bored of the boy too, eventually.

Instead he grinned at her, the gesture pulling at his cheeks and she rather liked the look of it. It made him look younger and more open.

"You're very surprising at times, Hermione. I think it would be quite something to know you in private life."

His deep voice rumbled in his chest and caressed her ears, almost lovingly and she did her best to shove her blasted thoughts away. "Quid pro quo, Tom."

 _Ah, there it is,_ he thought to himself.

"The significance of all the victims being in societies and having heroin in their systems. They're also all young, at least ten years younger than our lovely Maiden. Bella wants some excitement. But there's a problem, you see. Societies can become too noisy, especially for such a woman as herself."

Hermione looked at him puzzled, "are you saying she gets off on them being younger than her? It's not much of an age gap. Or is she the one wishing she was back in her youth? Throwing herself into university life, drugs, and bachelors."

"Clever girl," Tom mused and drank up the ever present blush that just seemed to get deeper with every compliment or nick name he gave her. "You're so close to the way you're going to catch her, you do realize that?"

She huffed, crossing her arms and stepping closer to the glass, "no. Tell me."

He smirked, "you hate not knowing, don't you?" At her glare he felt the temptation to roll his eyes but refrained. "After you left your professor to the dogs, what happened?"

Right, they had a deal.

Hermione dropped her gaze from his, observing her heels for a moment.

"I don't imagine the answer is on those shoes, Hermione."

She sighed, wanting to smack him and there was a cheeky glint in his eye as he seemed to read her intention.

"Guilt gnawed at me, I still wonder what happened to her. But I never saw anything in the papers so I assumed she was fine. Admittedly that annoyed me, she was a proper bitch. That following year there were... complications in my education."

"How so?"

"We had a foreign student from Norway move in. He was horrid as well. And with the stress of University nearing, him, and my mum... I ran away from home."

"Why, Hermione? Did the Scandinavian fuck you?" His voice was a lilt and she looked up at him angrily.

" _No_."

He leaned his head down, his breath fanning against the glass and his burnt coffee brown eyes bored into hers, "did he try to?"

" _No!"_ She squeaked, her voice going up a pitch and she wanted to strangle that smirk that seemed to have made a home on his face. Huffing, she turned her face away in a weak attempt to hide her reddened features.

"Quid pro quo, Tom."

He hummed, chuckling in amusement at her flustered state. "Bella acts like an elite, but she isn't. And yes, she did come from old money but with a long line of scandals and frauds, she'd fallen short and her marriage failed. Consider it a midlife crisis, though more bloody. Still, she thinks she still belongs to live the high life. And she's doing so by immersing herself in the swarming bustle of young University students with cash in their pockets."

"You said I was very close to the way we'd catch her."

"There's a handful of the elite societies within the region. Only allowing the best of the best in."

"Which societies? And which universities? They keep that sort of stuff very hushed."

Tom suddenly snarled, his lips pulling back to reveal his gleaming white teeth and Hermione leaned black, her eyes wide and there was a glimmer of fright. The snarl turned into a yawn as he stretched, and she did her best to ignore the way the muscles in his arm flexed and how his shirt rode up, revealing a chiseled V that disappeared into the rim of of pants. Going down, down...

Tom didn't miss this though and felt a sudden, and very shocking, rush of blood flow shoot all the way down to his cock. Turning away from her, he blinked in surprise at himself and grabbed hold of the papers from the tray. "That's enough for today, I think." His voice had turned a bit hoarse and he cleared his throat, not sparing her a glance over his shoulder as he grabbed the chair and walked to his desk.

Sitting down, he bit his cheek to stop himself from hissing as his erection pressed against his thigh. To be honest, it had been quite a long time since he ever felt the need or want to satisfy himself. The hospital's atmosphere was a rather dampener on moods of sexual desires.

He heard Hermione sigh, the sound of her heels starting to retreat but he quickly turned in his seat, only slightly and made sure to keep the tent in his pants out of view.

"Oh, and Hermione?"

She whirled around, an expectant look in her wide eyes, her mouth parting lightly and he felt another pulse shoot through him as the delicious image of her plush lips being wrapped around him.

He licked his bottom lip despite himself, "next time you'll tell me why you actually ran away."

She took a shaking breath, clutching her briefcase, and nodded

"And shall I summarize?"

"yes, Tom. Please."

His erection ached painfully again.

**Tom's** feet were in a shabby pair of hospital issued slippers, the fabric rough against the skin of his feet which were rested on the shelf of a rolling hand truck. His form was slightly tilted back, ankles linked by heavy metal restraints that bit into his joints. His legs, waist, upper torso and arms were bound by heavy canvas webbing, and beneath that resided a straight-jacket. 

And over his nose and mouth rested a metal cage like mask, tied tight around his head by a leather belt. 

"Bad news, Tom," Harry called behind him as Hagrid rolled him down the corridor, back into his open cell. 

"That history magazine rejected your article on those funny little objects you're obsessed with."

Tom watched Harry silently as his putrid doctor lounged on his bed, casually reading his large stack of private correspondence and another orderly entered to mop the floor. Harry sighed casually, "perhaps we shouldn't have mentioned you're an inmate in Azkaban." He turned to Hagrid, "Stand him by the toilet and leave us."

Hagrid propped the hand truck Tom was on into position, leaving him bound to it and then both orderlies left. Harry finished reading the last of the letters and then sighed happily, which made Tom raise an inquisitive brow. 

"So many letters, I can hardly wait to analyze them in further detail. But first things first," tossing the letters on the mattress, Harry rose and walked out into the corridor and bent down to remove a small recorder from under neath Hermione's chair. Tom sighed lightly through his nose, but gave nothing away as Harry wiggled it triumphantly at him. 

Harry stepped closer, pocketing the device and he looked much too smug. "I thought she might be looking for a civil rights violation in Grayback's death, so I bugged you. Not a word to me in all these years, Tom. Then Dumbledore sends his little treat over here, and you just turn into jelly. It's pathetic."

Harry leaned in tauntingly close to the front of his mask. 

"You still think you're going to walk along some castle, free of shackles? I don't think so, Tom. I called Chancellor Nott, and he never heard of any deal with you. He never heard of Hermione Granger, either. She played you, Tom..."

Tom's eyes darkened, swirling an inky black as they glittered behind the slits. Fury churned deep in his chest, as despite himself, a sense of betrayal. The little witch. 

Harry continued, a smirk on his lips, "when Dumbledore gets through milking you, he's giving you over to the Yard for a homicide case they're working on. And, he grinned, "they're preparing some special surprises for you right now, in my electroshock room."

Tom's indifferent eyes lingered on Harry's face for a moment, before dragging down to his open, and vulnerable jugular. The itch to rip it out with his bare teeth clawing at him. What he would give to see the man thrashing on the floor, screaming but can't because he's choking on his own blood. 

"The Granger bitch wants you to rot in here, in this little box, till your teeth fall out and you're soiling in diapers. You've seen the old ones, Tom. They weep when their porridge gets cold. That'll be you, too. Unless... you trade with me."

Tom still hadn't said a word as he watched Harry sit down chummily on the table. 

"There never was a deal with Chancellor Nott, but there is now. I've been on the phone for hours, Tom, on your behalf. Here's what you get: if you can find The Midnight Maiden, and the boy is found alive, Chancellor Nott will have you transferred to an institution in Wales."

Eyes shifting restlessly, away from Harry, Tom's eyes then suddenly lock onto something and widen with interest. He nearly smiled behind his mask. 

"They've already agreed. You get books, a view of a park, and plenty of exercise time," Harry trailed, but Tom wasn't listening. On the cot, carelessly being left there by Harry and lying half hidden under the letters and rumpled sheets, was Harry's metal pen. 

"In exchange, I get your full cooperation in publishing a professional account of this- my successful interviews with you. You publish nothing. And I get exclusive access to any material from Theodore Nott. So, do you accept my demands?"

There was a long pause and Harry clenched his jaw, "answer me, Tom."

Another beat, Tom remained silent, gazing at him, picturing himself mutilating the man. His anger at Hermione could wait. Harry hen stood up, sticking his face almost intimately close to Tom's mask and agitation dripped off him. "You'll answer me now, or by God, you'll answer to Scotland Yard. Where is the Midnight Maiden?"

Tom parted his lips, paused, and then spoke softly as he looked down at Harry, "I'll tell the Chancellor myself. But only in Wales."

**The** next day, Hermione had just stepped out of her flat, locking the door when she turned to be met by the sight of Dumbledore. With the look he was giving her she deflated, "Potter has killed him, hasn't he? That slimy little bastard! We were so close with Riddle, and now his last chance is gone." Hermione huffed, leaning against the wall with a heavy shoulder. 

Dumbledore sighed through his nose lightly and gestured down the hall, "let's get coffee and talk."

About an hour later Dumbledore and Hermione were walking along the pavement of a bustling London, walking aimlessly and sipping from paper cups. She blew on the hot liquid, letting it warm her cheeks as she tried to process that Tom was actually being transferred, well away from her. She couldn't blame him, she lied to him after all. Gave him hope and then yanked it away. 

"Sir, " she began. "Are you in trouble over all this? Can Chancellor Nott do something to you?"

Dumbledore chuckled, the sound deep in his chest, "I'm sixty two, Granger. Even if I were to get lucky and win the lottery I'd still have to retire soon. It's not a consideration. But you are," there was a beat of silence as she glanced at him, seeing as Dumbledore rarely struggled to find his words. 

"You've done enough. If I keep you out of training any longer, you'll be recycled. Cost you six months at least. I can guarantee you readmission here, but that's about it." Pulling to the side of the street, he observed her for a moment and she shifted on her feet. She hated when he did that, his eyes were all too knowing and she felt see-through. 

"Now's your chance, Granger. Go back to training. Leave the Maiden to me."

Hermione bit her cheek, her nail tracing along the rim of her cup. She couldn't give up now, she felt as if she was in too deep. There had to be something more for her to do. Maybe even see Tom one last time... "sir, if you didn't want me chasing her, you shouldn't have assigned me this case in first place."

He looked at her steadily, took a drink of his coffee, then nodded and continued to walk. 

Hermione's shorter legs struggled to keep up with his longer strides, "Riddle is the key, I just know he is. Whatever he told me about the Maiden is just as good now as it was before."

"Or just as worthless. But I want you in Wales, close to him."

Her heart jumped into her throat, nearly causing her to choke on her coffee. 

"Maybe when he gets tired of toying with with Nott, he'll talk to you again. There's a plane waiting for you at the airstrip, a private terminal at Heathrow."

She smiled into her coffee at this acknowledgement; he never thought she would quit. But then all too soon her lips tugged downward, "I lied to Riddle, though. He won't trust me any longer. I'll need some sort of peace offering," she thought for a moment, wondering what he might care for before it clicked. "Can I get the drawings from his cell?"

Dumbledore nodded, "a splendid idea. Meantime, try to get a feel for Theodore Nott. His flat, his friends, how she might've stalked him. I'm going to his university to talk to the Dean about some of the societies." Crumpling his cup, he tossed it into a bin. "Now is the hardest part, Granger. Use your anger, don't let it keep you from thinking. Just keep your eyes on Theodore. We've got less than a week."

Hermione hesitated, raising her cup to her lips before stopping. "Sir," she began pensively, "can those coppers out in Wales handle Dr. Riddle?"

Dumbledore looked at her grimly, "they'll use their best men. But they best be paying attention. The ones who underestimate Tom usually wound up dead."

**Tom** had just been wheeled out of the plain, jet fuel a sharp stench in the air and his eyes, alert, flitted around the hangar behind his mask. Two sturdy, well-armed, veteran prison guards were checking his restraints with clever, careful fingers. One name badge read Goyle and the other Crabbe. 

The latter spoke first, "welcome to Wales, Dr. Riddle. I'm officer Crabbe, this is officer Goyle. We aim to treat you just as nice as you treat us. Act like a gentleman, and you'll get three hot showers and a nice cot."

"But we aren't pussy-footing with you," Goyle said with a dry laugh. "You get cute, try to stab somebody? We'll tie your asshole in a knot, got in?"

Tom's eyes slowly dragged to him, relishing in the way he slightly leaned back. His voice was charming, a light hum, "oh yes, Officer Goyle. I certainly do."

Nodding, they turned away, Crabbe signing a clip-boarded form. Goyle then spoke under his breath, "shit, he's just a broke-dick. Won't be no trouble at all if he doesn't flip out." Crabbe hummed and turned, "Dr. Potter?"

Tom's eyes turned to follow. Parked to one side of the vast and dusty hangar was an ambulance and four patrol cars; a dozen policemen stood quietly chatting and smoking. Tom inhaled lightly, it'd been years since he had a cigarette. 

"If you'll please sign here, sir. we'll have ourselves a legal transfer," Crabbe said, holding out the clipboard. Harry patted his shirt pocket for his favorite metal pen, but it was gone. He continued to search, unease on his face and Tom held a look of amusement in his eye. 

"Use mine," Crabbe offered. 

"Here they come," Goyle said. 

Turning, two black stretched limousines glided smoothly into the hangar and pulled to a stop. Protective agents poured out of the lead car and formed a cordon. The driver then opened the door, the Chancellor's assistant stepping out, then the Chancellor himself. The man barely glanced around before striding towards Tom. 

_Aren't you bold?_

Nott stopped in front of him, struck by the bizarre spectacle of his restraints. The others instinctively kept their distance, but Harry, with theatrical relish, unstrapped and removed Tom's mask.

_And you're an idiot, Potter._

"Chancellor Nott, meet Dr. Tom Riddle," Harry said lightly. 

Tom and Nott stare at each other for a long moment, Tom's gaze practically burning the old man alive. Nott was tense, almost haggard. While the supposed madman stood with his unearthly poise. 

"Dr. Riddle, I've brought an affidavit guaranteeing your new rights, you'll want to read it before I sign." He nodded to his assistant who unsnapped her briefcase, reaching for the form. 

Tom clicked his tongue and everyone's gaze whipped towards him. Oh, how Tom did love an audience. "I won't waste your time and Theodore's time bargaining for petty privileges. Hermione Granger and that horrid Albus Dumbledore have wasted far too much already. I only pray they haven't doomed the poor boy..." Tom could imagine his little witch rolling her eyes at that remark. "Let me help you now, and I'll trust you when it's all over."

Nott looked at him for a moment, though he couldn't meet Tom's eyes. "You have my word." he turned to his assistant and she took out a pad to take notes. 

With an impassive sigh, Tom began. 

"The Midnight Maiden's real name is Bellatrix Black Lestrange. I met her just once. She was referred to me in April or May, 1989, by my patient Billy Stubbs. They were lovers, but Stubbs had become very frightened. Apparently Lestrange had murdered a transient. He thought if I could cure Lestrange , then she would be safe from the police, and he'd be safe from her... obviously he was wrong."

Nott nodded, "we need her address, a physical descr-"

"Did your wife nurse Theodore?" Tom cut in easily. Nott blinked at him, startled, "what?"

"Did she breast-feed him?" His tongue flicked out obscenely, relishing in the anger than swarmed his features. "You son of a-"

"He's just trying to rile you up," Harry said tersely, glaring at Tom. Who merely clicked his tongue, "wonderful observational skills, Potter."

Nott clenched his jaw, shaking, and said in a tight breath, "yes, she did."

Tom hummed, leaning back as leisurely as he could, "tightened her nipples didn't it? I bet you loved that." There was a long, tense pause and he sighed rather dramatically before continuing in a bored tone. "Five foot four, slender build, about eight and a half stones. She'd be about thirty five now. She said she lived in London, but may have lied. That's really all I can remember, Chancellor, but if I think of anything else I'll let you know." 

Nott nodded to the others, "let's go with it." 

They started towards the car, but Tom couldn't help himself as he called out, this is the most fun he'd had in ages. And despite himself, he had Hermione to thank for that. "Chancellor Nott!" The man paused, then hesitantly turned around. 

Tom smiled charmingly, "you can't trust Albus Dumbledore or Hermione Granger. It's such a game with these people. They're determined to get the arrest for themselves. The "collar," I think they say." There was an uncomfortable lurch one might've mistaken for guilt for throwing Hermione under the bus, but he shook it off. She was confusing him and he detested it. 

Nott considered him for a moment, "thank you, Doctor. I'll keep it in mind."

He turned again and Tom's deep voice rang around the hangar like a siren, "oh, and Chancellor?... _love_ the suit.


End file.
